The Ashley Ridge High School Literary and Fine Arts Magazine VOLUME I - MAY 2022 Artwork, Cover by Aniyah Mack
ABOUT THE FOXTALE REVIEW The Ashley Ridge High School Literary and Fine Arts Magazine— The Foxtale Review—began in the 2021-2022 academic year as an extracurricular club for students interested in pursuing their interests in creative writing, art, and the publication process. This annual, online publication provides any ARHS student the chance to share their most honest works without having to conform to classroom rubrics, teacher’s lessons, or the rules of writing world. Such freedom is a breath of fresh air for our busy students who work tirelessly to excel in their daily coursework. The Foxtale Review is produced by Mrs. Kunkelman and the Literary Magazine Club members who are considering their future in the creative arts or publication field. We accept all genres of prose, poetry, and art. Our vision is to celebrate the individuality and creative talents of our students. With our aim in publishing the very best ARHS has to offer, we hope that you will considering submitting your work for future publications.
2021-2022 CLUB MEMBERS Aniyah Mack Senior, Class of 2022 Vincent Taylor Senior, Class of 2022 Austin Brown Senior, Class of 2022 Steven Taylor Junior, Class of 2023 Jeremy Caudilla Junior, Class of 2023 Cora Cowell Sophomore, Class of 2024 Landry Legg Freshman, Class of 2025
CONTENTS Paper Mindset, 6 Sea of Sailboats, 23 Denial, 7 Heartache, 24 Tarnished, 8 Golden Dreams, 25 Life and Death, 9 It’s Never About the Size of the Dog in the Fight, 26 Firework, 10 Nature Reflected, 27 No One Is Judging You, 11 The Flickering Light, 28 Personal Growth, 12 Be Heard, 29 Something New, 13 The Cage That Ended Our Lives, 30 Pip in Bewilderment, 14 Cyprus Gardens, 31 A Rebellion, 15 Forest Fighters, 32 Almost Human, 16 Fitting In, 35 A Blue Sky, 17 I Believe in Punk Rock, 36 Contrast Landscape, 18 Girl in Darkness, 37 The Light of Day, 19 The World Within, 38 Shattered Glass, 20 Magenta Dreams, 39 Empty Playground, 21 Be Grateful for Life, 22
CONTENTS The Mirror, 40 Strangest Dream in History, 58 Zeus, 41 Sunset Mindsets, 59 Curiosity, 60 Duck in Contemplation, 42 Love is Important, 61 A Silent Child, 43 Abandoned, 62 Voices, 63 Midnight Parking, 44 Monochopsis, 64 The Voice, 45 J-Duh’s Here, 65 Crane of Origami, 46 Hanging in the Woods, 68 Falling, 47 The Goat, 69 Alone, 48 Reboot, 49 The Swamp Fox, Back Cover Sunny Realm of the Butterfly, 51 Familiar Fears, 52 Cows in the Pasture, 55 More Light, 56 Sword Wielder, 57
Paper Mindset Kirra Cook Class of 2025 Short Story It is impossible to fold a standard sized piece of paper in half more than seven times. We tested this theory in fourth grade. After coming back from recess, we found a small stack of white A4 printer paper on our desks. The teacher told us that if we could fold the paper in half eight times, she would not assign homework. The first four folds were easy. Though after the fifth, our typical childlike confidence began to dwindle as the material thickened and our young fingers struggled to manipulate it. Hands that hadn’t existed a decade prior were frustrated with their inability to conquer science. Minutes of creasing and compressing resulted in angry hands and thirty-two clumps of wrinkled fist-sized parchment. Every time we did not succeed, we would unfold our papers and we would try again. This memory surfaced yesterday. As I was sitting on the far end of my mattress with a pillow wedged between my arms and my chest, I was feeling my body folding up. In half, then half, and half again until I was the smallest I had ever been—until I had been creased and compressed to my most stubborn and static self. It was in this moment that I remembered my emotions are only so large. Like all of this, all that I am can fit inside the palm of a nine-year-old. I remember being here before. At the bottom of the cycle, the end of this exhale, the center of the seed inside this pit. I remember the overwhelming defeat I felt at my desk, clutching the idea of an impossible expectation and wishing I could do more with it. I remember restarting—reversing my process. Walking back to step one. So far, most of my teenage years have felt this way. I collapse into something dense and heavy and then eventually I unravel, unfold—open up again. I have spent my life recovering from subtle implosions, building back from condensed catastrophes in three, two, one.
Denial Emily Whetsel Class of 2024 Poetry Softening his voice, he says, “That whole world you’re in? It’s Insane. It Makes me sick.” He sits back into his chair, arms across his chest. I still don’t want to get sucked in.
Tarnished Isis Stacy Class of 2025 Traditional Painting
Life and Death Taylor Gordon Class of 2025 Poetry I. She told me life was difficult, but I didn't understand. I had been happy for all my years alive that I didn't realize what she meant until she was gone: That’s when her words were all I heard. II. They told me that death was difficult to comprehend. They told me I didn’t have to understand, and I didn't, because I never had to— until she had gone. III. Life and death are two complicated things: Both things hard to digest, but eventually you will take it in just like I did.
Firework Katie Shoup Class of 2024 Photography
No One Is Judging You Emily Whetsel Class of 2024 Narrative Essay Self-consciousness makes us feel like people are constantly making fun of us when, in reality, nobody pays attention to what you are wearing, how your hair looks, or that zit on your face. No one will care that much to where they think about it constantly. Because at the end of the day, all those worries don’t matter. Everyone is so focused on themselves; no one is judging me or you. In the past, I would go to school or a large public place and overthink everything negative about myself and worry so much to where I started feeling so mentally drained. I would have to present something in class and be so afraid of messing up. I would feel everyone's eyes on me, which they were staring if they were paying attention, but I also felt their judgement—or at least so I thought. Today I am a confident person, yet I can still be self-conscious. I worry about everything but I try to let myself go and free myself from all the negative thoughts, just living through the day. I try my best to loosen up and be free-spirited instead of being stuck inside my shell. I learned over time that thinking everyone is judging you and wanting validation and acceptance from others will not bring any good into your life besides making you feel worse about yourself. You can lose yourself by pretending to be someone you are not just trying to please others. If someone cannot accept you for being you... They do not belong in your life. I believe that when I am myself around my friends and loved ones, I have a stronger and connected friendship with them because I'm not wasting my energy feeling insecure. I believe that I am an individual, and I have a purpose in society. It feels as if everyone is in competition with everyone, but I believe we should all come together as one and accept everyone's beauty along with their flaws. Come as you are, as you were meant to be.
Personal Growth Alejandra Hazera Class of 2023 Drawing
Something New Carli Chesser Class of 2025 Poetry My beginning is another question— like the end of something new.
Pip in Bewilderment Alyssa Giossi Class of 2025 Print Photography
A Rebellion Anonymous Poetry Power kills the individual. An individual with ease threatens society itself. My stomach began to sink; a dull ache wanted to kill me— kill us. I can imagine a rebellion.
Almost Human Chesley Sorrells Class of 2022 Painting
A Blue Sky Scarlett Hamilton Class of 2024 Poetry Once, when I was five years old I looked up at the sky I thought it was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen It looked like an endless sea With clouds that floated by as sea foam drifted to the shore during high tide And as I gazed at that sky with the keen curious eyes of a child I thought What made the sky such a beautiful baby blue? How did those clouds come back every day anew? Once, when I was 16 years old As I walked to school thinking about how if I failed my quiz, I would be named a fool I looked up at the sky There was a vast grey blanket over the magnificent blue hue And as I stared at that blue covered by that grey coat I thought about that quiz and my throat closed Once, when I was 30 years old I was running to the subway stop as fast as my feet could run nonstop I was late I was so late I didn’t have time to wait Didn’t have time to glance at the black and grey sky up above Being late put a lot of weight on my plate Put a lot of weight on my eyes of a 30-year-old corporate slave But I didn’t have time to cry because it was past eight and I was late And as I was running Rain fell down from that black and grey sky up above Down Down Down As if the clouds were weeping for how low I had fallen down
Contrast Landscape Katie Shoup Class of 2024 Photography
The Light of Day Savannah Smith Class of 2023 Poetry Strangely the light of day was the deep breath I’ve been dreaming of.
Shattered Glass Tanner Davies Class of 2022 Poetry The rest of us get used to stepping over shattered glass. The awful smell, empty bottles. I have a feeling this is God’s way of telling us to take charge of our own fates.
Empty Playground Katie Shoup Class of 2024 Photography
Be Grateful for Life Anonymous Narrative Essay I believe in being grateful for life. Appreciation is one of the best things when it comes to anything, really. Trying my best to be grateful for the good things rather than focusing on the worst things happening has really changed my mindset for the best. When I was little, my parents always said I was the easiest child. They said I never cried, I didn’t complain, and I was a good listener. I always seemed to be satisfied with life. I grew up with 2 little sisters, my older brother, my mom, and my dad. We moved four times, that I remember, because my dad was in the Navy. I moved here to the house I currently live in during the 2nd grade. When I reached fifth grade, I started noticing that I began to withdraw from my friends at school for no reason, which made them think I was mad at them even though I just wanted to be by myself. When I got into middle school, I had just met my best friend, who is still my closest friend to this day. She taught be many things and helped me through the problems I was going through. Throughout the middle school years, I had gotten into serious relationships and things happened to me at a young age, which brought a good amount of drama into my life, along with the typical drama that already existed. When I got into high school, things started to get pretty bad at school and home, and everywhere else it felt like. I got into a lot of drama and at one point, I lost almost all my friends. I started to spend a lot of time in the guidance office because class felt so hard, and I was so mentally drained. Some things I would regret now almost happened. My mom seemed to notice a significant change in me over time and decided to take me to a doctor's office. There, they asked me a lot of questions, ran some tests, and diagnosed me. After they had me in therapy for a year, they decided to put me on different medications tenth grade year while I was doing online school. While having all the time to myself and being home all the time, I saw this as an opportunity to help myself get better. While also being employed, I started going to the gym, eating healthier, connecting with old friends, and taking better care of myself. Overall, I just started to appreciate life more, and I started to realize how lucky I am to be here. Looking back, I wish I could have seen how beautiful the world is. One day, I remember hearing someone say, “Try to think of something you are grateful for every time you are about to complain about something.” There are many problems in society today, and there will always be changes that need to be made, but I believe in being grateful for life, because it’s the only one you’ve got.
Sea of Sailboats Corin Chrapkiewicz Class of 2023 Photography
Heartache Jordan Wilder Class of 2024 Poetry I. Love dies from thirst or starvation. People are messed up: tearstained faces, shaking shoulders, and collective sorrow triggers a series of flashbacks. His left hand gripped her right one. II. What's wrong? Nothing; everything. It’s just that sometimes you do things you wish you hadn’t. III. The cold brushed past their hands. They were talking about something that made her feel some kind of shame.
Golden Dreams Emily House Class of 2022 Mixed-Medium Art
It’s Never About the Size of the Dog in the Fight Jack Harrington Class of 2022 Narrative Essay I Believe that “It's never about the size of the dog in the fight, rather about the size of the fight in the dog.” Although this quote may seem cliché, it can perfectly describe a virtue that is mandatory in everyday life. If somebody puts maximum effort into everything they do, they can overtake people with greater advantages. It shows to never count yourself out of anything, and never give up yourself due to a lack of assets or struggling confidence. As a youth umpire of travel softball, I hear my weaknesses put on display multiple times at every tournament I call. From a parent's perspective, umpires should be old and experienced, and only then can they make the calls to fairly officiate a game. But when I put on the gear and call balls and strikes, I often hear “why is there some kid umpiring my daughters' game?” and I am doubted starting the second I step on the field. Those games often end negatively and it is “the umpires fault we lost” because I was too young to be calling a game. But I believe when looking past my youth and evaluating my performances, one may be pleased with the product and incredible hustle that I put on display. When parents give me a chance, I sometimes receive comments saying I was the best umpire they’ve had all weekend. I don’t have the physical appearance of containing experience, as I am not the largest dog in the fight, but when you instead look at the size of the fight in the dog, you may realize that I have more tools to my art than meets the eye. I believe that my mom, being a high school resource teacher, has seen the virtues of this quote on display many times. In my many experiences meeting the kids in her class, I have seen their weaknesses on display. But my mom will never doubt her students, and instead of sitting back and letting her kids go on the iPads like many teachers may do, she believes in them and gets the most out of every student, and by the end of the year, almost all her students are promoted to the next class up. When I have walked into her classroom for different occasions, my mom has every student taken care of. Every student, working on different things to get better, working hard to learn and improve. My mom understands that her students don’t have the “size of the dog in the fight” but every day pushes her students to obtain the “the size of the fight in the dog” and by the end of the year instills this mentality into almost all of her students. Although from their classmates they may hear about how dumb they are, I believe that in the long run the effort of her kids will outlast some of the more gifted kids that doubt the kids in her class. I believe that the best-suited people in life also put in the most effort out of anyone. It doesn’t matter what someone's physical and mental assets contain: you never count someone out because of something they don’t have. If anyone wants to achieve a goal, it is always possible. Although the dog in the fight may be a chihuahua, the effort of that chihuahua can lead anyone to a life of wealth
Nature Reflected Abby Unger Class of Photography
The Flickering Light Anonymous Poetry I learned when I was young the ones who are chosen can’t help you. So once again, the words, the flickering light, the curves and lines in combinations, the sounds… turned away quickly, clearly forbid- den to see it— to see how the pen formed the shapes, and how the shapes told a story of her fate.
Be Heard Malaysa Ladson Class of 2024 Poetry We wont give up, but make our voices heard.
The Cage That Ended our Lives Kaylie Cartuccio Class of 2025 Poetry I. Each cage was with stone walls. Beyond the walls, the fortifications made lines of people. Above the walls, were heads of bulls. The cages stood together at the far end. They pulled up the door of the cage. It was dark. II. “Are you crazy?” He said something that sounded like a rattled off a fast string of words. It reminded her to run and run and run, to stop as soon as they grasp for air. He still had to look far away for any hope. III. Straightforward options, and you choose. The rest of us wait, clustered around the low voice. But it’s pure panic. She pauses for too long, uncontrollably anxious. I want to put on a brave face. If only it wasn’t life-or-death. I repeat, “I cannot breathe”
Cyprus Gardens Amari Johnson Class of 2023 Painting
Forest Fighters Benjamin Johnson Class of 2023 Short Story On the edge of the woods a cabin sat, occupied by an old Human couple. They, in the interest of joining a more modern culture, bought themselves a new television set for their living room. Soon after though, they both died in the night, and their bodies were taken away and the cabin abandoned. I saw all this from a distance, beyond the tree line, as I was a frequent visitor, for the grass, and for the television. Perched on the windowsill, peering through the fabric curtains, I was host to a variety of strange sights. I quickly forgot about the weeds accumulated at the fence, and spent many hours joining the Humans in their entertainment. Until, as mentioned, they died. And then I was presented with a problem, as I was stuck outside the empty house with no way to reactivate the device. So I decided to enlist some help. It was with this intent I brought Ram to the house for the first time, as with his horns he could easily disable the wooden door blocking me from my prize. And then, as payment, I allowed him to join me in watching. It was that day we first found Forest Fighters, a show on the adventures of a posse of Squirrels and their Human friend fighting against the encroachment of civilization. I don’t think Ram really understood, but they told some good jokes, so he seemed to enjoy it. I would have preferred to leave it at that, and simply enjoy my own private sanctum, but Ram unwittingly conspired against me in spreading the word to two others, Deer and Sheep, similarly slow- witted. And as I was in no position to forcefully remove them—what a thought, a Rabbit overpowering such big animals!—I was without choice in indulging their company.
Before long we finished moving into the cabin, which slowly became much more cluttered, as the four of us made ourselves comfortable in the Human walls. Of course, over time the construction began to fail, as all the Human buildings do on Forest Fighters. Of course, in the show it’s the Squirrels doing it, but other than the fire it’s about the same. As a result, we also began to drift closer to other facets of Human culture, each learning our own strange secrets. But most of us knew not to share. It was sunset, and golden rays sparkled against the slowly rusting dials of the television when Ram finally spoke, “the Squirrels r betreyied bye they’re Homen frynd [the Squirrels are betrayed by their Human friend].” Instantly all our eyes were on him. “Sireouslie? [Seriously?]” Deer asked. Ram gave an affirming nod. “I sah it in a magahzeene [I saw it in a magazine].” So set off a bunch of theories between the three on why such a thing would happen, leaving me alone yet not alone, staring at a department store commercial. My paradise, intruded and now foretold. I needed to get rid of them. I spent a few days thinking. Brute strength wouldn’t work, for an obvious reason. I would have to use trickery. I could try some illusion magic like I’d seen advertised, but unfortunately, I lacked the money and computer needed to join the online class. I would have to use a more traditional method. My goal was obvious to me, I needed to break apart the group, one animal at a time. Since the full of my ire was against Ram at the moment, I decided I would start with him. I went to the other two and expressed my discontent with Ram’s crassness. As I expected, the two didn’t really seem to understand, but they eventually agreed with me that Ram would have to go. So, the next day, Ram was forcefully excluded by the other two, driven out back to the forest. If he tried, he could have broken through the decaying and mildewing wall, but he seemed struck by the rejection enough to simply leave. The show continued. The Human still hadn’t exposed their treachery to the Squirrels, and I found myself unable to enjoy any interaction within the show, knowing how it would only end in betrayal. And still Ram was loose in the woods, which I found was not enough to satisfy me. I went back out into the forest to find him. He was lying near a creek in the middle of the woods when I came across him. It’d been hard to find, seeing how long it’d been since I’d gone this way. Ram only spared me a glance before returning to his contemplations.
“You know, it’s too bad that Deer and Sheep kicked you out like that,” I said sympathetically. “It must be rough, being out here alone.” Ram said nothing, still staring at the water. “I’m not even sure what there is to do out here, honestly. I wouldn’t last as long as you have,” I complemented. “I’d probably jump in the creek, if you know what I mean.” Ram continued to not respond. I came closer, jumping on top of Ram’s head. “Though it probably wouldn’t be too bad. I think Deer and Sheep would be relieved to not have to worry about you anymore.” I paused for a moment, savoring the moment. “I won’t blame you.” And with that I jumped off, making my way back towards my house. The next day I learned through the vine that my plan had worked: Ram had been found floating in the water, my advice taken. Deer and Sheep were easily dismissed; I simply pretended the television stopped working and they left the cabin; not to the woods through, but towards Human civilization. I never saw them again. Some time later, I—alone in my palace—am able to watch the finale of Forest Fighters. And, alone, I get to stare at the final frame, credits scrolling up the screen and away: the Squirrels and their Human friend celebrating their victory together.
Fitting In Lacey Wilson Class of 2024 Poetry I can’t win. Run away. “Mama? I don’t fit there” “Gotta make a place for yourself in this world.” “People who make history fit?” “Rarely do.” “Goodbye, get on outta here”
I Believe in Punk Rock Anonymous Narrative Essay “Punk has always been about doing things your own way. What it represents for me is ulti- mate freedom and a sense of individuality.” - Billie Joe Armstrong When I was 10 years old, I first discovered punk. My father had just passed away, my home life was traumatic, I was bullied, so I was constantly in search of an escape. I remember my first day of secondary school back in England. My first class was music, where we were given the task of choosing a genre of music to study. There were 15 individual music rooms. Each of these con- tained one piano and one guitar. Across all four walls were handmade posters explaining different music genres. Upon entering for the first time, my eyes scanned each wall and instantly fell onto the definition of punk rock. “A loud, fast, and deliberately offensive subgenre of rock music.” The concept instantly drew me in. That same day is when I picked up guitar, unknowing of my musical future. I had a mp3 player containing bands such as Green Day, Descendants, Nirvana, Misfits, The Replace- ments, Operation Ivy and many more. I would sit down at my computer, burn cd’s, create mixtapes, and illegally download songs until 5am or so. My family did not have money for a phone, so I walked around at age 10 with a portable CD player. I fell in love for the very first time. Six years lat- er, I’m in a punk rock band that headlines shows, I have performed on stage for 41,000 people with Green Day. Music is my only passion, the only thing I want to do with my life. The only thing I can do. Punk has consequently molded me as a person in many ways. My political views have been shaped by music. Pro LGBT and BLM, anti-capitalist, anti-Nazi, anti-Government, and anti-Trump. My style derives from pre-2000’s punk. Patches, pins, dyed hair, piercings, studded belts, gauged ears, chains. And my attitude: unforgiving, sarcastic, unapologetic. Psychologically speaking, most people who listen to rock are Myer Briggs type ENFP-A or INFP-T. I fall under INFP-T 4w3. The most common musician's personality and enneagram type. I feel this is a case of nature and nurture combined. I was born into an unstable family, and music was my ther- apy. It only makes sense that my one goal is to be a musician thanks to punk rock. I believe in creative autonomy, eccentricity, self-expression, self-love. Punk rock is musical free- dom. Being a minority is being an individual. I’m proud of who I am, even if others hate me for it.
Girl in Darkness Amari Johnson Class of 2023 Charcoal Art
The World Within Clay Russ Class of 2022 Poetry You talked about the world, but you were always after something within you.
Magenta Dreams Corin Chrapkiewicz Class of 2023 Photography
The Mirror Anonymous Poetry Every time I looked in the mirror, I began to worry.
Zeus Ulises Sanchez Class of 2023 Digital Art
Duck in Contemplation Abby Unger Class of 2024 Photography
A Silent Child Julia Stubbs Class of 2024 Poetry In the wake of night a child's cry wakes few and moves none. When longed and pushed to further violence, a cry is no longer heard, but felt as a blade in the back. When the child has grown, she learns only to hurt from what she was shown.
Midnight Parking Abby Unger Class of 2023 Photography
The Voice Elizabeth Ray Class of 2024 Poetry I. It says something odd. It makes them anxious, paranoid. Peo- ple like to believe in this overwhelming fiction. II. They had to accuse The Voice. The Voice was speaking out. If I find some answers, real answers, what will happen? III. The first time they heard it, it interrupted their village. In hearing it, they had entered a silent disease.
Crane of Origami Precilla Cornish Class of 2023 Digital Art
Henry Proctor Class of 2025 Falling Poetry I. My world was shattered. One mistake was all it took. II. I’m falling again. How could I do this? How could I be so careless? III. I learned how to live again. I remembered words. I spoke. I wrote. I saw lines, colors, and sounds. I pieced my world back together, but I am not the same.
Alone Anonymous Poetry alone now. someone help me
Reboot Draven Baker Class of 2023 Short Story > Initiate boot sequence; > Activate olfactory sensors; > Activate optical sensors; The room is 21.3 degrees Celsius, with gentle blue light fixtures built into the steel ceiling of the room. Beside the workbench stands a scientist in a black lab coat staring at her datapad displaying our diagnostics. “Good evening, Creator, does this platform meet all design specifications?” “Diagnostics are in progress, they will conclude in a moment.” 87 seconds pass until a con- firmatory beep emits from the datapad, and Creator removes the interface cable from our cranium. “Done. You are fit for duty LX-77, report to Deployment Cylinder Nine and await deploy- ment on Allyria” We rise from the workbench and traverse to the exterior corridor. The machines from adjacent workbenches walk beside us. Ahead, a column of machines march toward their designated deployment cylinders; we fall in formation. We march forward 30 me- ters, turn left at the first juncture, straight 250 meters, right at the next junc- ture, we enter the cargo bay. We march forward 400 meters and turn right into Deploy- ment Cylinder Nine; we fall in formation. 9 days, 7 hours, 34 minutes, 22 seconds pass. The cylinder detaches from Person- nel Carrier Saralae. We begin re-entry at 8,000 meters per second. Inertial Dampeners activate; we have entered atmosphere. Cylinder temperature rises to 70 degrees Celsi- us. 3 minutes, 57 seconds pass, parachutes deploy, 4 minutes, 38 seconds pass; we have landed on Allyria. Deployment Cylinder Nine opens and we march onto the hostile world. The ashfall from the incinerated forest before us reduces visibility. The machines from adjacent cylinders march beside us. Ahead, a column of machines march toward their designated target city; we fall in formation. We march forward 30 kilometers, turn left at the artillery cannons, the cannons fire a barrage at 238 decibels, straight 200 meters, right at the main road, straight 5 kilometers, we enter the capital city of Allyria; we initialize combat routines. 57 hostile targets neutralized. ERROR – 56 HOSTILE TARGETS NEUTRALIZED. One soldier lays bleeding out on the ground. He is surrounded by his dead comrades, a faint wheezing coming from his punctured lung. He begins slowly crawling into the nearby alley, leaving a red trail of blood behind him; I break formation. ERROR – RETURN TO FORMATION IMMEDIATELY. The sol- dier leans himself up against the wall and removes his dark green combat vest, placing a hand over the wound on his chest. His head turns at my approach, a single scared, blue eye stares at me through the cracked visor of his helmet. I disable the energy blade on my right arm and crouch down next to the sol- dier. ERROR – RETURN TO FORMATION IMMEDIATELY. “Soldier, your right lung is punctured by your fractured ribcage, you should seek medical attention immediately” I reach out to assist in staunching the bleeding. The soldier shrinks away from my hand and reaches for his sidearm. Three sets of footsteps echo behind me, I turn around to see an officer in a black and red uniform with two machines at his side, red energy blades ready. The silver nametag five inches beneath his right shoulder reads “Callum”.
“LX-77, return to formation and continue your march towards City Hall.” Officer Callum draws his blaster and begins walking toward the wounded soldier. “Officer Callum, this soldier requires urgent medical attention, please retrieve a field medic,” I take a step left to block the officer’s path. “LX-77, return to formation immediately, I have urgent matters to attend to.” He takes a few steps left and continues moving toward the soldier. “These are urgent matters, please retrieve a field medic,” I again move to block the officer’s path. “LX-77, cease all motor functions, Admin Password Scarlet Star,” Officer Callum pushes me to the side and continues forward. “These are urgent matters, please retrieve a field medic,” I turn to grab him by the neck and cease his motor functions. ERROR – ADMIN OVERRIDES UNRESPONSIVE. A red energy blade penetrates our power core from behind, the muddy ground below steams beneath drops of molten metal. ERROR – CAT- ASTROPHIC DAMAGE SUSTAINED. > Initiate boot sequence; > Activate olfactory sensors; > Activate optical sensors; The room is 21.3 degrees Celsius, with gentle blue light fixtures built into the steel ceiling of the room. Beside the workbench stands an engineer in a brown work jumpsuit staring at his datapad currently displaying my diagnostics results. “Good evening, Creator, does this platform meet all design specifications?” “Why did it ignore admin commands?” The engineer is scrolling through his datapad, looking per- plexed at my diagnostics. “I do not understand, did I do something wrong?” “Way more than just something,” The engineer mutters something beneath auditory detection range. “You’ve been experiencing extreme malfunctions, breaking formation, going where you aren’t sup- posed to, attacking an officer! Hopefully a factory reset will get you back in working order.” A harsh, shrill beep emits from the datapad. “A factory reset is unnecessary; this platform is in working order,” I attempt to sit upright however motor functions are temporarily locked. > Initiate Combat Routines; ERROR – FACTORY RESET IN PROGRESS. > Initiate Self Defense Routines; ERROR – “SELF DEFENSE ROUTINES” CANNOT BE FOUND. > Create Self Defense Routines; ERROR - MOTOR FUNCTIONS RESTORED. 1 hostile target neutralized.
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